Now and then - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,46

to fi nd out who the guy was.”

“And?”

“My brother says it’s not the government at all. It’s a guy named Fred Schuler, who lists his occupation as private investigator. So my brother called him and Schuler tells him that he’s been hired by Brad’s wife to see if he’s faithful.”

“Just like that?” I said.

“I think my brother threatened him a little.” She smiled.

“Big brother, you know?”

“Did you ask Turner about this?” I said.

“Hell no,” she said. “I got places to go, people to see. There were plenty more where he came from.”

“Did you say good-bye?”

She shook her head.

“I stopped returning his calls,” she said. “After a couple of tries, he stopped calling.”

“So you never talked to him again after your brother told you about the private eye.”

“Correct,” she said.

“And that would have been when?” I said.

She leaned her head back a little and closed her eyes to think.

“I graduated in 1990,” she said, her head still tilted, her eyes still closed. “And we stayed in touch . . .”

She opened her eyes and nodded. She had very big eyes and she made them up well. I had long observed that big eyes were a defi nite fashion plus.

“About four years after graduation,” she said, “1994, early summer. I remember we were sitting outside at a café when I fi rst spotted the guy following us.”

I had a small notebook and I wrote down Claire Goldin and the year, 1994.

“And you still remember Fred Schuler’s name,” I said.

“It reminded me of that football coach,” she said.

“Don Shula?”

“Yes. Did you know he once played for the Browns?” she said.

“Don Shula,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Not Fred Schuler?”

“You’re silly,” she said.

“Admittedly,” I said. “Did you ever go see Fred Schuler?”

“No.”

“And you haven’t seen nor heard from Bradley Turner since?”

“No.”

I took out a business card and handed it to her.

“If you have any other thoughts,” I said.

“Sure,” she said.

“And good luck with the current marriage,” I said. She took the card and read it and smiled.

“Plus,” she said, “if it doesn’t work out, I have your card.”

“Bench strength is good,” I said.

50.

Ilay on the bed in my hotel room with the phone to my ear.

“Chollo did make the guacamole,” Susan said, “but the rest of his shopping turns out to have been takeout from José’s, which he reheated.”

“He cooks like you do,” I said.

“Except for the guacamole,” Susan said.

“Hard to imagine you peeling an avocado,” I said.

“Peeling avocados is icky,” Susan said. “And there’s a big, hideous stone in the middle.”

“I know,” I said. “Did you have another appointment with Alderson?”

“Yes.”

“Everybody where they should have been?”

“Vinnie outside. Chollo upstairs. Hawk in the study. My alarm system in place. My gun in the desk drawer.”

“Loaded.”

“Of course.”

“The drawer open wide enough to reach the gun,” I said.

“Of course,” Susan said. “Remember, I have a Harvard Ph.D.”

“Comforting,” I said. “What’s he doing in there?”

“He’s charming me,” Susan said.

“Has it occurred to him that others may have tried that?”

“No,” Susan said. “I don’t think it has.”

“As far as I can tell,” I said, “he’s had great success with it in the past.”

“I would imagine he has,” Susan said.

“Is he talking about matters of substance with you?” I said.

“It’s all substance,” Susan said. “No matter what they say. Even if he’s lying, it is of substantial interest to see why he chose those lies.”

“Is he still talking about his father?” I said.

“Yes, and his father’s heroism in the protest movement, and of his own attempts to emulate it.”

“But?”

“But if he’s forty-eight he’d be awfully young for it, and his father would almost certainly be older than the average sixties protester.”

“In fact he appears to be about fi fty-fi ve,” I said.

“The math works even worse,” Susan said.

“Isn’t that dumb?” I said. “To make up a story that doesn’t make sense in terms of simple chronology?”

“It may be. But troubled people often fuse themselves with a parent or someone else when they are talking about themselves.”

“So is he troubled?”

“Yes. But he’s not talking about what’s troubling him,”

Susan said.

“You have a thought what that might be?” I said.

She laughed.

“You, probably,” she said.

“I’m not sure you can help him with that,” I said.

“Nor wish to,” Susan said. “But none of that is germane to what he’s doing. Right now he just wants to seduce me into being alone with him.”

“Which will not happen,” I said.

“Which will not happen,” Susan said. “What progress are you making?”

“I have talked to sixteen women that Alderson knew when he was in Cleveland. The most recent one to see him